Little Lion
by VampireHunterExtraordinare
Summary: Nadia's aunt decides to move the family from Ireland to Washington, USA in the hope of a more peaceful and happy life. She gets much more than she bargained for! OC/Seth, OC/Collin, OC/Embry. Rated for Language. Probably no lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**Little Lion**

**VampireHunterExtraordinare**

**AN: This is my first fanfic, so go easy on me! I'm Irish so if you don't understand something let me know and I'll put it up in the AN of my next post. This is rated M but mostly for language. Almost certainly no lemon. Enjoy!**

**One more thing: If I was Stephanie Meyer, you would SOOOOO be paying for this shit :-P**

**Chapter 1**

**An Introduction to the Insanity that is the McDonnell Household**

Nadia POV

I have officially decided that she has lost it. She's mental. Insane. Borderline psychotic. Completely and utterly up the creek and I need to get her paddle back to her fast, before she does anything else.

The she in question is my Aunt, Scarlett. She's always been pretty, you know, eccentric, but that's allowed. She's a fantasy writer, except when I say fantasy, I mean romance, but with witched and vampires and gods and stuff. Her job gives her license to be a bit of an airhead and sometimes eat only tangerines for weeks on end, or wear only yellow clothes, or having on-off infatuations Gene Kelly. It does not, repeat, NOT give her an excuse to move the lot of us to a different continent.

I should explain; my parents died three years ago in a car crash. It's okay though. I've moved on. I'll miss them, of course, but they were going to go sometime, right? I'll always love them, and sometimes I'll wish they were here but they aren't so there's really no use in regretting things you can't change. (I promise, I'm not an emo. I'm just, you know, all philosophical and stuff. Well, maybe slightly emo. Ugh, never mind.) So, since they died, my mum's sister Scarlett became our guardian. There are four of us.

Eve's the oldest. She's seventeen. Also, she's adopted. We don't know anything about her father, just the girl who was her mother. She killed herself after the delivery. I think she may have been a friend of my mum's cousin or something. That's how Eve ended up with us. Mind you, all this came from Eve herself. My parents never mentioned it to the rest of us. I probably would never have known she wasn't a blood relation if not for the whole ethnicity thing. Eve is 6"1, built like a long-distance runner (possibly because that's what she is), elbow-length blue-black, dead straight hair, eyes almost black. Also, skin as dark as Usain Bolt. That's who she's going to end up married to, mark my words. She's going into her last year of school. After that, she's going to study Film and run long-distance in the Olympics for Ireland in Rio 2016. She's then, after meeting and marrying Usain Bolt, going to become a Director and win Oscars and do a speed lap on Top Gear. Then she promised me she'd punch Jeremy Clarkson. In the face. You know, for being a prat. Then she's going to become a political celebrity and tell David Cameron he's a cunt in a live debate and give out to him for ruining the Smiths for an entire generation of potential lovers of awesome music. It doesn't matter if they are his favourite band.

Enough about Eve, Indie comes next. He's sixteen. He's one of those people who you just know is going to make their mark. He's a singer-songwriter. Seriously, he's amazing, like Ed-Sheeran-can-suck-it amazing. I have seen some of my most hard-core punk and Goth friends melt away and fall in love with him. It's a serious inconvenience. He looks a lot like the old picture of Granddad on the mantelpiece; even taller than Eve, pale, dark hair, long face, cheeky grin, overlapping front teeth. My friends reckon it's cute. It reminds me of Lord Blackwood from the Sherlock Holmes movie. It was bad enough before. When our parents died, Indie found exercise was a good way to get away from reality. Now he's all buff and stuff. All he needs now are some scars and a tattoo and I'll have to kill him.

Next are twins; me and Nasrin. Nasrin is lovely. You would like her; everybody does. She's a great friend too – good for advice, reliable, supportive, honest, caring. All of that stuff. She can't do some stuff, though. Sarcasm, lying, secret keeping, being sneaky, deal with death, that sort of thing. The sort of thing I excel at. She's also the artist; she'll probably either be a professional dancer or a cartoonist. Sometimes we collaborate and do satirical cartoons or manga short stories. It's really impossible not to love her. However, for all her perfection, when my parents died she did some very bad things. She got piercings and smoked and got drunk in a field and shouted and screamed at everyone and got into fights and through the most dramatic hissy-fits you've ever seen in your whole life.

Naza and I are pretty much identical; Same Native-American resemblance, like our dad, all dark skin, hazel eyes with green through, dark, wavy hair, 5"4, even though I think I might be slightly taller than her. There are a few differences; my hair is waist-length, dyes with purple highlights and blue ends, parted down the middle and usually topped with a knitted hat, adorn with badges, where-as Naza's is shoulder-length, always straightened, with a side parting and a fringe. Naza wears mascara and foundation but usually not much else. I go with heavy eyeliner and mascara and a pale blue stripe across my face like an eye-mask if I'm feeling very out there. Sometimes I do lines around an eye in various colours and feather earrings. Naza dresses fashionable-ish but safe, like jeans and plain skirts and checked shirts and converse. I don't really know how to describe my style, but at a guess I would say Indie-Hipster-Punk-Nerd-Goth. How's that? That really means Doc Martins or Batman converse, comic book t-shirts, or band t-shirts, ripped up jeans, 3D glasses as an accessory, skull and crossbones necklace, braces like an old movie.

I seem to have drifted back to me again. I'll say this; my name is Nadia. I'm the brains of the whole operation. I'm also the anchor. When Indie's at the Gym and Scarlett has gone to do a lecture (She sometimes teaches creative writing or English in Trinity College

Dublin) and Eve's gone running or on a movie marathon in the cinema, I'm the one who makes sure dinner's one the table, Naza is home safely, the house hasn't been claimed by squatters, that kind of thing. I'm also the only one who hasn't really got a clue about the future. I would like to be a writer, and write about fantasy worlds and aliens and detectives and all sorts. I'd like to be a theoretical physicist or an evolutionary biologist or a computer programmer or an engineer, but I can't seem to narrow that down.

I'm going to stop going on about my family. Instead, I'll tell you about the circumstance I have found myself in. Scarlett decided that we should have a change of scenery. She started to Google; and found the perfect place. La Push, Washington, USA, otherwise known as the Quileute reservation, where my dad grew up.

I have no beef with my dad's side of the family. I've never met any of them. We all use my mother's name, McDonnell, even though on my birth certificate it says _Nadia Caoimhe Uley McDonnell. _That's all I know about that side of the family, really. Uley is their name and they are Quileute, therefore probably live in La Push.

I did find myself being brought, in early July, as soon as Naza and I finished our Junior Cert exams (**AN: see the bottom of the story)**, to a new country with a different way of doing things and lots of guns and OMG and Bieber fever. Yippee.

**AN: In Ireland secondary school results are evaluated by two big tests like in the UK; the Junior Certificate in the third year of Secondary school, which actually counts for nothing really, and the Leaving Certificate, in the sixth year of school. The Leaving Cert is what college applications are based on. Both exams happen in June.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Little Lion**

**VampireHunterExtraordinare**

**AN: Once again, I'm Irish so if you don't understand something let me know and I'll put it up in the Author's Note of my next post. This Chapter will actually have a plot, I promise. I haven't turned into Stephanie Meyer in the last few hours. Pity.**

**Chapter 2**

**Old, New, Borrowed, Blue**

Nadia POV

It was the Saturday after the exams were over and I stood between Naza and Indie. All three of us were staring at the house in disbelief.

It had a porch. It was pale yellow. It had wooden steps. There was a run-down garage. It was in the woods. There was a dirt track leading up to the door. And it was tiny. I say tiny, I mean like I doubted Eve could stand up straight inside.

"How cute is it?" Scarlett had gotten out of the taxi and was bouncing around like she did on Christmas morning. The looks of disbelief moved to settle on her instead. There was silence for a moment as she looked at us and we looked at her.

"I can make it work," Eve decided when she had finished examining the house, breaking the awkward pause. "I'm thinking Cabin in The Woods style, but with a serial killer who tortures the victims by force-feeding them batteries. Then, in the confrontation at the end, we find out that the killer is the evil twin of the last survivor. Then we just go Hunger Games style, twin versus twin, until one victor remains." There was more silence for a moment.

"Dibs on killer!" I shouted, only a fraction of a second before Naza. I grabbed the first bag I saw in the boot of the taxi and carried it to the porch.

The house was Tardis-esque; bigger on the inside. Most of our stuff had already been brought out, and was piled high in the hall. There was a sitting room to the right, with only a beat-up brown couch and a fireplace. On the left was another room that was quickly designated office/library. There was a large, old fashioned kitchen at the end of the hall, with white cabinets and a big range. The house was quite warm, and bright, but every window boasted the same view; trees. Oh the _joy_.

Upstairs were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The attic was converted too, and split into two rooms. Naza and I claimed those rooms. We had our own bathroom as well, and a

shared wardrobe.

The rest of the day went to sorting through boxes and dividing things up. So did the next day, and the day after that. By Tuesday, my room was vaguely personalised and filming had begun. The basement (no one ever has basements in Ireland; it's a recipe for disaster. Do you _want _to be murdered?) had become the main set for the movie, which was titled _A Case in La Push_. The script was still in progress but we had plenty of fun being pretend-chained to a chair, screaming. This type of behaviour had caused alarm with the neighbours back home, but in La Push there was no one to hear you scream.

On Wednesday we went in to the village. Scarlett had rented a car for a few weeks until she got around to buying one. Once they passed their tests, Eve and Indie were promised one between them. Naza and I swore to each other to never, _ever_ get in any cay Indie was driving. He once almost killed our second cousin Eimear with a bumper car.

Anyway, La Push has a village, kind of. There are a few shops, I suppose, but really… All me and Naza found interesting was a little shop that sold all sorts, and I mean anything and everything. I bought some little leather bracelets, and a ring made entirely out of some kind of unidentified rock. It looked like marble, but it was blue. It went quite nicely with the Clada ring I always wore and the silver banded ring baring a rose carved from rose quartz. The rose ring was leant to me by my mother the day she died, and I hardly ever took it off since. I stood looking at a cutlery set with what seemed to be bone handles, waiting for Naza.

"You're new," said a deep voice from behind me. I almost jumped and I didn't make a sound. I mentally high-fived myself as I turned.

I almost audibly gasped when I turned around, because behind me was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. He was easily 6"5, and clearly a Quileute. His dark hair was shaggy and hung around his ears. Dark eyes shone from under the mane. I didn't focus on this face for long though because that was when I noticed the rest of him.

He was wearing knee length denim shorts, and plain black converse. That was it. Nothing else, like, at all. I swear his chest would have made Ryan Reynolds look like Ricky Gervais. His muscles were so well defined that I almost feinted right there. I forced myself to look back at his face and spoke.

"New to you, anyway," I smirked, whilst trying to keep calm, and keep my thoughts PG.

"Seth," he said, offering me his hand, "Seth Clearwater." I took his hand and smiled.

"Nadia McDonnell." This was the moment that Naza chose to immerge from the depths of the shop. She took one look at Seth, then me, then Seth again.

"Okay then. Right. The craic was ninety." Then she turned around and went back the way she came. I comprehended the coded message (The craic was ninety, meaning Operation Tricycle

is go) and rolled my eyes.

"Sorry about Nasrin. She's the weird one."

"Twins?"

"Triplets," I corrected. I was laughing evilly on the inside.

"So, if you're new, you don't know anyone?" His gorgeous face was so innocent and happy I felt instantly guilty for instigating Operation Tricycle.

"Not really. My dad was a Quileute but we've not even started looking for his family yet." That certainly caught his attention.

"Oh? What's the name?"

"Um, Uley?" His body visibly stiffened and his facial expression was suddenly neutral.

"Which Uley is he?" His voice was now wary, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. It felt like there was definitely a right answer to the question.

"Mark. He was called Mark Uley." That seemed to be the right answer, because he relaxed a little.

"I don't know a Mark Uley, only Sam. I'll take you to see him if you want?" He was smiling, and I swear my heart almost beat out of my chest. He raised his hand up like he was offering it to me. I know it was insane and unruly and I WAS GOING TO BE MURDERED but I didn't even hesitate and my hand was in his. Just at the door, I hesitated and he turned his head to look down at me.

"One minute," I mumbled, my hand slipping from his grip as I turned around. "Naza!" I called into the depth of the shop. "I'll be home soon, tell Scar I'm with family. Keep Nat out of my room, alright?" I paused for a minute before I heart the reply.

"Fine. Whatever. Use protection." I could hear the smirk in her voice as my eyes automatically narrowed.

I tried to put Naza, and our fictional sister Nat out of my mine as I turned back to Seth.

"Sam'll love this," he grinned, "Long lost cousins. He'll be thrilled." And with that, he lead me out of the shop.

**AN: The craic was ninety is one up from great craic and one below mighty craic, on the scale of the craic. Everyone knows what the craic is, right? It's like… an Irish way of saying fun. Generally involving alcohol and/or messing. The boot of a car is the trunk. I will explain about Operation Tricycle in the next chapter. **


End file.
